What It's Like
by CleverDucky
Summary: The words are heavy on his tongue, but he swallows them back. In the silence of the room, he imagines he can hear panic's raspy chuckles echoing off the walls. Roach/Soap. SLASH.


What It's Like

Gary "Roach" Sanderson/John "Soap" MacTavish

_Love is like war, easy to begin but very hard to stop. - _Henry Louis Mencken

**oOo**

Roach knows fear. He knows fear because, being who he is and what he does, how can he not? He's seen things he wishes he'd never had, he's killed people that, late at night, he wonders if they were innocent. He's had more than enough blood on his hands, his face, his shoulders, his chest to last forty lifetimes over. He's been shot at, swiped at with a blade, thrown into the front lines, been face to face with men who wanted nothing more than to see him die, has screamed for help and known that none would come, and has brushed with death a little too often than even _he's _comfortable with.

So, Roach knows fear.

But Roach has only known panic twice.

The first time was when he had almost fallen to his death on the outskirts of Kazakhstan. He remembers thinking how cold it would be to die there and how he didn't _want _to die. He was terrified, but then his captain's face had jumped into view and he was _saving _him.

The second time was when the task force went on the mission to capture Rojas and he had thought he was going to be left behind for the Russians to shoot up like a sack of meat when he missed the jump. Running over the rooftops with no weapon, hardly any sense of direction, and his captain's voice shouting in his ear to _Run you idiot! Run! They're coming! _had him reeling and sick and scared to the point that he wasn't sure he was breathing.

But then he _did _make it, and the relief was so heavy he almost lost his grip on the 'copter's ladder.

Panic, he realizes, is an enemy he can't kill. Sure, some like Ghost can manage it pretty easy, maybe even Soap, too, but Soap has looked pretty damned scared sometimes while you can never really tell with Ghost.

Soap. His captain. The man he'd follow through hell and back.

Roach feels panic now, in the dark of his captain's barracks, sitting up in the bed and watching the man's shoulders rise and fall in his sleep. He recognizes panic because even as he watches him dream things he can't know, Roach feels something rising in his chest and squeezing painfully through sinew and bone; capturing the beating muscle that likes to pretend it can feel emotion in cold claws and refusing to let go.

And he panics about it because he knows what is, and he knows what it means, and he knows what will happen if he voices it out loud.

He wants to say it. He wanted to say it when they kissed and when he was pushed into the springy mattress and when he felt consuming heat wrap around him and when his back arched off the bed when John fucked him and when he started thrashing because his captain always liked to draw it out, especially if Roach had done something excessively risky that day, and he wanted to say it so bad when John whispered promises laced with threats in his ear as he came, fingers digging into his hips and teeth biting his exposed throat because the words were just _begging _to be heard.

But panic had flowed like a swift knife into his blood and clogged his throat, stopping him, laughing so softly in his ear, "_Oh, no, sweetheart. Fear it. Run from it. It's terrible. And it will hurt you._"

He feels it run icy fingers down his spine, chuckling in a breathy whisper, and he shivers, shrinking away from the touch and closer to the warmth of his captain.

Soap shifts, wakes up just enough to realize the body pressing against him is Roach before turning on his side and pulling the smaller man against his chest, burrowing his face into his short brown hair.

"...sleep, Roach."

"'M workin' on it."

The words lay heavy on his tongue, but Roach swallows them back. In the silence of the room, he imagines he hears panic's raspy chuckle echoing against the walls.

* * *

**A/N: **And this, ladies and gents, is why my brother should never under any circumstances let me play his games (psh, like he could stop me). I start slashing like a motherfucker. Can't really decide if I like Roach/Ghost or Roach/Soap or Ghost/Soap more...hell, I'll just go with Roach/Soap/Ghost. Yeah, there we go.

I really should be working on Sanctum...and the thing I promised Keenon (I'm sorry!) about...BUT IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING AND I WAS GETTING MY ASS KICKED ON MODERN WARFARE FOR TWO HOURS BEFORE I FINALLY STARTED KICKING BACK! Roach, he's my man. For some reason I'm always kick-ass when I'm him, despite how much he fails (really, _how _many times has that guy fallen, gotten smooshed by rocks, and generally slapped by Life like he's its bitch?). I hate that he died.

-flails- Now back to what I'm SUPPOSED to be working on. Or sleep. Did I mention it's four in the morning? Yeah, sleep would be good...something tells me I'm not going to do it though :D

Review before I have Roach bomb your house.


End file.
